


Beneath the Nougat Sky

by Marrilyn



Series: Trauma Center [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Conversations, Episode: s14e07 Unhuman Nature, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Jack Needs a Hug, Poor Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 00:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: While the others look for a cure for Jack, Reader keeps him company and they talk about Rowena.





	Beneath the Nougat Sky

**Author's Note:**

> While this is a part of a series, there is no need to read the previous two stories in order to understand this one. Each story can be read as a standalone.

Things in the Bunker had been hectic since the early morning. Sam, Dean, and Castiel were going from book to book on their shelves in a desperate search for something — anything, a slightest sliver of hope — that could help Jack.

There appeared to have been nothing.

Every book was empty of anything useful, every clue a dead end. At times it felt like a conspiracy, as if someone had hidden the necessary knowledge just to make the search difficult.

Nephilims couldn't be  _ that _ rare, could they? You knew they weren't the most plentiful of species, and their existence had been forbidden since the beginning of time, but there had to have been some information about them aside from the very basics.

There was nothing. Not a single damn thing. Not in the Bunker's books, not in The Book of the Damned that Rowena had checked cover to cover, not in the old grimoires you'd brought along in hopes of finding something useful.

By the time noon came by, everyone was getting frustrated, and rightfully so. A kid — one who appeared to be in his late teens and used to be able to obliterate cities with a snap of his fingers, but a kid nonetheless — was dying, and there was nothing either of you could do to help him. All that knowledge at your disposal, and it had failed. It had failed you and, most important of all, it had failed Jack.

Rowena swung by the nephilim's room every half an hour or so to check if he was alright. Sadly, his condition seemed to be worsening. Every time she'd hold her hands over him and utter the enchantment you knew by heart by now, having heard it over and over since yesterday, her face would fall and, while no words would leave her mouth, her expression would scream sadness. Jack was dying. There was no telling when, other than the vague  _ soon, _ but he was dying. A few days, weeks if he were lucky, and he would be gone.

Rowena acted nonchalant, but you could tell it affected her. She was a bad liar, a terrible actress; as much as her mind was set on selling the indifference, her body told a different story. One just had to know how to read between the lines to see it. You knew Rowena well enough by now to see the truth in her body language.

She cared about Jack. She'd only known the boy for a day, but she felt for him. She liked him. She'd misjudged him at first, likened him to his father (in all honesty, who wouldn't? Not that many people would be chill around the son of Satan), but she'd quickly realized she was wrong. All it took was for Jack to utter a few kind words and flash her a smile, and he'd won her over. He was innocent of his father's crimes. Just another one in the long line of Lucifer's victims. Rowena knew the feeling well enough.

You pulled a chair over to Jack's bed and sat down. Pale and cocooned in blankets, he looked impossibly frail, as if the slightest rougher touch would make him fall apart. You'd never met a nephilim's before, but you knew this wasn't their natural state. They were supposed to be strong, powerful, a force to be reckoned with. Jack looked like a flu-stricken schoolboy on the brink of death.

Which he kind of was.

His eyes opened, big, beautiful, bright despite the illness. He flashed you a boyish smile, the same one that had melted Rowena's heart in the matter of seconds. "Hi."

"Hi." You couldn't help a smile of your own. The boy's joy was infectious. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. For now."

"That's great!" You ignored the 'for now' part. No need to dwell on the bad.

"Where is everyone?" Jack asked, looking around.

"Library. Still researching. I'm on a break," you replied. The truth was, you'd quit. There was nothing there for you to find. Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Rowena had, as a last resort, started going through the books they'd already checked, just to make sure they hadn't missed anything. A waste of time, you thought. There was nothing there for them to find.

Jack raised an eyebrow, curious. "And you came here?"

"Thought you'd like some company." That, and you wanted some company of your own. The Bunker could get terribly lonely if one was on their own long enough. "I can leave, if you want."

"No. You can stay." The boyish smile was back. Even dying, the nephilim was all charm. "I  _ do  _ like company."

It was a deal, then.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, unsure what to say. What were you supposed to talk about with a one-and-a-half-year-old teenager? Half the time you didn't know what to talk about with Rowena, and you lived with her. You usually compensated by wrapping your arms around her and pressing kisses all over her jaw and neck.

That didn't seem appropriate in this situation.

Maybe silence was good. You were never a fan of small talk, anyway.

"Y/N, can I ask you something?" Jack asked all of a sudden.

"Sure."

"What happened tonight? To Rowena? I heard screaming. It was her, right?" He looked at you, asking for confirmation.

You nodded. "Yeah, it was her. She had a nightmare."

Jack's face was all sympathy. "It must have been a bad one."

"It was." He had no idea how bad. For the sake of his innocence, you hoped he never would. What Rowena had gone through you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

"I have nightmares sometimes. I never scream like that."

"That's good."

He nodded at your words. "Why did she scream?"

"Because…" Because she was traumatized. Because, despite Lucifer being long gone, she was still scared to death; scared that he would find her, that his hands would wrap around her neck again and his feet would pound at her skull until it crushed under the pressure and fire would swallow her alive. Because she didn't feel safe, and it was doubtful she ever would. You sighed. How were you supposed to explain that to a child? "Sometimes, when something really bad happens to you, it stays with you."

"PTSD," Jack said, full of childlike pride at having remembered the term. "Sam told me about it. It's trauma."

"Yeah," you said, breathing out in relief. The boy was knowledgeable enough.

In Rowena's case, though, trauma was putting it mildly. The flashbacks, the nightmares, the random outbursts of fear — they were more than mere trauma. The woman's soul was scarred, permanently, if her current condition was anything to go by.

Jack's face grew serious, as if he had suddenly grown up in the span of a second. The brightness in his eyes shut off like a switch had been flipped, all dark, no stars. It was an unnerving change. "Is it because of my father?" he asked, voice terribly quiet, almost a whisper.

"Yes," you replied, taking a small breath. There was no point in lying. As sick as he was and as much as you wanted to make it easier on him, he deserved to know the truth.

Guilt spread over the nephilim's face as soon as the word left your mouth. His eyes trailed downwards, stopping at his hands that were clasped over his sheet-covered stomach.

Your heart broke for him. It wasn't his fault his father was a monster. Nobody could choose their parents. What they could do, though, was strive to be good, to be better people than those who'd brought them into this world. From what you'd seen — and heard from Sam, Dean, and Castiel — Jack was doing a great job at that.

"It's not your fault," you said. "You're not responsible for what Lucifer did." All of that was solely on the bastard, may he rot in hell. "Rowena doesn't blame you."

Why did it matter? Why did you care?  _ Because he's a child, _ your inner voice said. You were far from motherly, but you could recognize a child in pain. There was a time when you  _ were _ that child. If you could help in any way, no matter how miniscule, you wanted to give it a try. You had nothing to lose, while Jack, hopefully, had something good, something positive to gain. 

"She doesn't?" Jack asked, perking up at the prospect.

"No." You gave him a smile. You'd have preferred to give him candy, but you had none, so you settled for the next best thing. It worked, if the sparkling sliver of light, miniature and barely noticeable but there, in his eyes was any indication. "What she told Sam… She didn't mean it. Not like that. She was just scared."

The boy had won her heart quite fast. She knew she was wrong about him, and you could tell she regretted being so cold. Her cruelty had already hurt two children in her care. She wouldn't let for there to be a third. That wasn't her anymore.

"I understand," Jack said, a small smile playing on his lips. So forgiving, so understanding, even so close to death. Bless his precious soul.

"I think she really likes you, actually," you said and grinned in emphasis of your words.

Jack's face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. "You do?"

"Yeah. She talks nicely about you, and she's been so gentle with you. Trust me, she's not like that with everyone."

Not by a longshot. Usually, it took a long while for people to earn Rowena's trust. Yet, all Jack had to do was utter a few kind words and flash her a smile, and she was all his. It was the mother in her, you guessed. Mourning for the son she'd lost, the son she'd left and hurt in unimaginable ways. She couldn't bring Crowley — or Oskar, for that matter — back, but she could be kind to another child. Jack was innocent, uncorrupted. He deserved kindness. His genetics didn't define him. He wasn't his father, and he'd proven it the moment he'd first shown himself before Rowena's eyes. He was no danger, no threat, no monster. He was a child, and she treated him accordingly.

Jack was grinning from ear to ear. "I like her, too."

That filled you with warmth. You couldn't remember the last time someone other than you said they liked Rowena, and said it so genuinely, so purely. Rowena would be happy when she heard it — and she  _ would _ hear it. She still struggled with her redemption, struggled with other people accepting her. Knowing that this boy, whom she'd only known for a day, liked her would help. It would give her hope.

"She's really nice," Jack added. "Like a mom." His face fell for a short moment. "Sam told me she had a son, and that they didn't get along, and that he died."

"That's true," you said sadly. As much as you loved Rowena, that one was all on her. She would carry the guilt for her mistreatment of her son to her grave.

"That's a shame. She seems like she'd be a good mom."

You thought so, too.

"Back when she was a mom, she wasn't very good at it." Understatement of the century.

Jack frowned. "But she's changed, right?"

"She did," you confirmed. "She's very sorry for hurting her son."

"My dad wasn't sorry."

He looked away as he said it, features twisted with pain and hurt and yearning. He'd loved his father, and he'd wanted him to love him. But Lucifer wasn't capable of such emotion. People, even those in his own family, were pawns to him, puppets to use and abuse and destroy as he saw fit. Jack could love him all he wanted; the Devil couldn't —  _ wouldn't — _ change.

"He said he was, but he wasn't. He lied to me. He pretended to love me, and he…  _ hurt _ me," Jack said. His eyes met yours, as wounded as a puppy's. "Rowena's a good mom."

_ Better than my father, _ was the insinuation.

To be fair, a lot of people were better than his father. But you understood what he was trying to say. Rowena's change was genuine. Lucifer's wasn't. That, by virtue, made her a better parent, no matter how bad she used to be. It made her a  _ good _ mother.

That was for Crowley to decide, though. He was the one she'd hurt the most. Sadly, he wasn't here to give his point of view.

"She's always been good to me," you said. Even back when she was a wicked witch, thought by many to be heartless, she'd treated you well. She'd never hurt you.

"Sam told me you guys have been together for a while," Jack said, genuinely happy to hear about your relationship.

_ You and me both, kid, _ you thought. "A little over two years, yeah."

"I'm happy for you."

This time it was your face that lit up. "Thank you, Jack. That's really nice of you to say."

No one had ever said something like that before. Not to your face, anyway. This boy was a gem. You hoped he could be saved. The world would lose a wonderful person if he were to die — and god knew there weren't all that many of those left.

Jack coughed, once, twice, three times, the sound tearing from his throat more like that of a sixty-year-old smoker than a sick teenager. A sick,  _ dying _ teenager, you reminded yourself. This wasn't a common cold. The boy was mortally ill.

All because of his bastard father.

How many lives could Lucifer possibly ruin? He'd permanently scarred Rowena. He'd pracically murdered his son. He was dead, gone, rotting, and yet, his presence still lingered over his victims, destroying them from the inside one little piece at a time.

"Are you okay?" you asked gently.

"Yeah," Jack said as the coughing fit slowly died down. "I'm fine."

_ You're not fine, _ you thought.  _ You're dying. _ "Would you like to see some photos? Of Rowena and me." Maybe seeing some happy pictures would cheer him up. It was worth a shot.

The idea thrilled him. He smiled through the pain. "Yes!"

You returned his smile. Dragging your chair closer to the bed, you pulled out your phone and started going through the gallery. You and Rowena lived high risk lives, so social media was out of the question. You had profiles on a few sites, but neither was in your name, and you had a strict policy of never posting your pictures on either of them. It was too dangerous. Jack was the only person who would ever get to see them.

The thought excited you. It felt nice to share your happiness with someone else.

There was a picture of you and Rowena smiling, arms around each other in a light embrace. One had Rowena leaning on your shoulder, and you resting your cheek on her forehead. One was of the two of you in bed, hair messy, smiles wide. One was from your trip to the beach a few months back, sun shining brightly in the background and almost obscuring your faces. One showed Rowena asleep in your lap, while another showed her sleeping in bed, with your hand on her forehead in a gentle caress. One had you making funny faces at the camera; it made Jack laugh out loud, which in turn elicited a laugh of your own. There was one of Rowena pouting while you kissed her cheek. And one where she was glaring bloody murder at the camera, with you resting your head on her shoulder and holding two fingers over her head as pretend horns.

Jack loved every single one. It warmed your heart to see someone genuinely like your relationship. After years of judgment and snide comments about Rowena being too much to handle and warnings about her leaving you out of the blue without saying goodbye, it was a nice change.

"There you are," Rowena said. She entered the room, a cup of steaming tea in her hand. "I was wondering where you'd run off to."

"Miss me?" you teased.

"Terribly. I can't live without you," she said sarcastically, a small smile playing on her lips.

You clasped a hand over your heart dramatically. "Be still, my heart."

"Aye, aye." She walked over to the bed. "How are you doing, Jack?"

"Good," the boy replied.

Rowena was unconvinced. However better he got, it was only temporary. She knew that. You knew that. Jack knew that. Still, she gave him a smile that was almost motherly, warm and sweet, the kind of smile she always gave you when you were sick.  _ I'm here, _ it said.  _ I won't leave you. _ No need to ruin the mood with the awful truth.

"I made you a cup of tea," she said, showing him the beverage. "I hope it will be to your liking."

"Thank you," Jack said happily. "I'm sure I'll love it."

You didn't have the heart to tell him it was bitter. Who knew? Maybe the nougat-loving nephilim liked his tea without sugar. It was doubtful. But he would drink it and, even if he wished for sugar, he would tell Rowena it was great. That was the kind of person he was. Kind. Sweet. Innocent.

"Any progress?" you asked.

Rowena shook her head, lowering the cup on the bedside table. "Nothing. I was thinking of ringing some witches I know, see if they know anything."

"I could call a few people, too," you said. There were some acquaintances you'd made over the years, as well as people — humans  _ and  _ monsters — who'd owed you favors. It was worth a shot.

"Thank you," Jack said, "for doing this for me." His face grew sad, solemn. "Even if it's a waste of time."

"It's not a waste of time," Rowena said.

"If we can help, we will," you said. It was the right thing to do.

Jack gave a small nod. "Thank you. Both of you."

You smiled, and Rowena followed suit.

"Let's look you over, shall we?" she asked.

Jack expressed his agreement with another nod, and Rowena's hands were over him in an instant, eyes wide and flashing purple as she chanted. The news, as expected, wasn't good; he was getting worse. Every passing minute brought him closer to death's door.

All the more reason to keep trying. You weren't going to give up on this kid, and neither was Rowena. He deserved to live. And the two of you would do everything in your power to help make it happen.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to OswinTheStrange for editing and coming up with the summary!


End file.
